He remembered that the general had come for advice about a matter of extreme importance on which his destiny depended.
"At my wife's; in other words, my home and that of my daughter."
"Forgive me, I . . ."
"I am leaving Lebedev's house, my dear Prince, because I have broken with that man; I broke with him yesterday evening, with regret that it was not sooner.
I demand respect, Prince, and I wish to receive it even from those persons to whom I have, so to speak, given my heart.
I often give my heart to people, Prince, and I am almost always deceived.
That man was unworthy of my gift."
"There is much disorder in him," the prince observed with restraint, "and certain traits . . . but amidst all that one notices a heart, and a cunning, but sometimes also amusing, mind."
The refinement of the expressions and the deferential tone obviously flattered the general, though he still sometimes glanced around with unexpected mistrust.
But the prince's tone was so natural and sincere that it was impossible to doubt it.
"That there are also good qualities in him," the general picked up, "I was the first to proclaim, on the point of granting that individual my friendship.
I do not need his home and his hospitality, because I have a family of my own.
I do not justify my vices; I am intemperate; I drank with him, and now perhaps I lament it.
But it was not for the drinking alone (forgive me, Prince, the crude candor of an irritated man), not for the drinking alone that I became connected with him.
I was precisely charmed by his qualities, as you say.
But all things have their limits, even qualities; and if he is suddenly bold enough to assure me to my face that in the year twelve, while still a child, he lost his left leg and buried it in the Vagankovsky Cemetery in Moscow, that goes over the line, that reveals disrespect, that shows insolence . . ."
"Maybe it was only a joke for the sake of a merry laugh."
"I understand, sir.
An innocent lie for the sake of a merry laugh, even a crude one, is not offensive to the human heart.
A man may lie, if you wish, out of friendship alone, to give pleasure to his interlocutor; but if disrespect shows through it, if that disrespect is precisely meant to indicate that the connection is burdensome, then the only thing that remains for a noble man is to turn away and break off the connection, showing the offender his true place."
The general even became red as he spoke.
"But Lebedev couldn't have been in Moscow in the year twelve; he's too young for that; it's ridiculous."
"First, there's that; but let us suppose he could already have been born then; but how can he assure me to my face that the French chasseur aimed his cannon at him and shot his leg off, just for fun; that he picked the leg up and brought it home, and then buried it in the Vagankovsky Cemetery, saying that he put a tombstone over it with an inscription on one side: 'Here lies the leg of Collegiate Secretary Lebedev,' and on the other: 'Rest, dear dust, till the gladsome morning,'8 and, finally, that every year he has a panikhida9 served for it (which is a sacrilege), and that he goes to Moscow every year for that.
As proof, he invites me to Moscow, in order to show me the grave and even that very French cannon, which was taken captive, in the Kremlin; he insists it's the eleventh from the gate, a French falconet of an old design."
"And what's more he has both legs intact, in plain sight!" laughed the prince. "I assure you, it's an innocent joke; don't be angry."
"But allow me some understanding, too, sir; concerning legs in plain sight—that, let us suppose, is not entirely implausible; he assures me that it is Chernosvitov's leg . . ."10
"Ah, yes, they say one can dance with Chernosvitov's leg."
"I'm perfectly aware of that, sir; when Chernosvitov invented his leg, he came first thing to show it to me.
But Chernosvitov's leg was invented incomparably later . . . And besides, he insists that even his late wife, during the whole course of their married life, never knew that he, her husband, had a wooden leg.
'If you,' he said, when I pointed all these absurdities out to him, 'if you could be Napoleon's chamber-page in the year twelve, then you can also allow me to bury my leg in the Vagankovsky Cemetery."
"And were you really . . ." the prince began and became embarrassed.
The general gave the prince a decidedly haughty and all but mocking look.
"Finish what you were saying, Prince," he drew out especially smoothly, "finish what you were saying.
I'm indulgent, you may say everything: admit that you find the very thought ridiculous of seeing before you a man in his present humiliation and . . . uselessness, and hearing at the same time that this man was a personal witness ... of great events.
Is there anything that he has managed to . . . gossip to you about?"
"No, I haven't heard anything from Lebedev—if it's Lebedev you're speaking of . . ."
"Hm, I thought the opposite.
As a matter of fact, our conversation yesterday began on the occasion of this . . . strange article in the Archive.11 I pointed out its absurdity, and since I myself was a personal witness . . . you're smiling, Prince, you're looking into my face?"
"N-no, I . . ."
"I look young for my age," the general drew the words out, "but I'm slightly older than I actually seem to be.
In the year twelve I was ten or eleven.
I don't know my own age very well myself.
My papers lower it; and I have had the weakness of lowering my age in the course of my life."
"I assure you, General, that I do not find it at all strange that you were in Moscow in the year twelve and ... of course, you have things to tell ... as have all who were there.
One of our autobiographers12 begins his book precisely by telling how, in the year twelve, he, a nursing infant, was given bread by the French soldiers in Moscow."
"You see," the general approved condescendingly, "my case is, of course, out of the ordinary, but neither is there anything extraordinary in it.
Quite often the truth seems impossible.
A chamber-page!
It's a strange thing to hear, of course.
But the adventures of a ten-year-old child may be explained precisely by his age.